The Vignette Grab Bag
by madame.alexandra
Summary: This is basically ten little fics that were written in the past that are unconnected to each other, basically Jibbs-ish, short, sweet, and not angsty. Set anywhere from Paris to the Director Days (and Ziva is in two of them - and Tiva is in one!) Good for a quick read. :)
1. The Personal Visit

a/n: _so, basically i combed through some of the teensy prompted fics i'd written on my tumblr, and decided to post them here for anyone who likes them or doesn't see my dumb blog. they're all completely unconnected to each other, so it's basically just a grab bag fic of random .. vignettes, i guess._

* * *

**"The Personal Visit"**

* * *

She didn't exactly want to be in his basement — their relationship wasn't particularly solid, since he'd come back from Mexico (or rather, since she'd come back from Paris) — but it was time, it was necessary — she had to do it. She couldn't stand working with him if she didn't.

He was swilling whiskey and stenciling something on the boat when she waltzed in on her high heels, and he didn't look around, though she knew he knew she was there. He waited for her to state her purpose, and when she didn't, he grunted.

"What, Director?" he asked.

"For the purposes of this visit, I'd like you to call me Jen."

He made a derisive noise.

"What, _Jen?"_ he retorted sarcastically. He paused with his pencil and turned, one hand braced on his knee. "Why?" he asked, eyeing her warily.

She crossed her arms.

"This is a personal visit."

He flicked his eyes over her, and shook his head.

"Forget it," he muttered. "Go home, Jenny."

Her lips parted in shock. She hadn't meant — well, _that_ — but to hear him reject her so immediately and so promptly struck her a little hard, and she was hurt for a moment. She shook it off, though — really, that wasn't what she'd come for — and put a hand on her hip, narrowing her eyes at him.

"It isn't personal like that," she snapped. "I have an additional condition to letting you back in the office — "

"'M already back, Jen, Jesus."

"Look, Jethro," she started.

He turned to her again, thrusting his arm out in annoyance. She stared at him, her eyes drawn directly to the — thing on his face. That's where she found her nerve again.

"There's something I've been meaning to say — " she started.

"Then say it!"

"The mustache!" she snapped. "Shave it, or go back to Mexico. It's heinous."

He glared at her, trying not to convey his surprise. He glared at her a long time, and then he smirked.

"No."

* * *

_-alexandra_  
_story #255_


	2. The Video Game

_a/n: warning for super strong language_

* * *

**"The Video Game"**

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs stood outside of Jenny's elegant brownstone staring suspiciously at the door. He blinked slowly, and then reached up and stuck a finger in his ear, shaking it a little as if he were cleaning his hearing out. He removed his finger, and stood listening critically for another moment.

The violently abusive, flagrantly aggressive, and altogether outrageous swearing he was hearing was definitely coming from inside the house. And it certainly seemed to belong to one Jennifer Shepard, director of NCIS, and one Ziva David, Mossad assassin. He leaned closer, squinting through the glass as if he could see what was going on in the study—but all he saw was dark shapes.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKING—"

"ARE YOU FUCKING—GOD-FUCKING -DAMMIT, MOVE—YOU LITTLE SHIT—"

"SON OF A BITCH, THAT WAS A TOTAL DICK MOVE—COCKSUCKER!"

Gibbs glared, personally offended—he was a Marine, and he'd never been party to language this mortifyingly….er, colourful….from women he'd worked with. Had he stumbled upon some graphic, horrible bitch fight when he'd decided to pop over with a bottle of bourbon to share with Jen?

He was pondering what on earth had instigated a fight between the two friendly woman when a piercing shriek of outrage emanated from the brownstone, and it kicked off his danger-radar a little too quickly. He barged in, gun in his hand suddenly, bourbon held protectively in the other, intending to end whatever cat fight was going on—but when he stormed into the study all he found was—

—several beer bottles, a box of pizza, and some sort of graphically animated video game on the big screen in Jenny's study.

The women turned and looked at him, startled, and then Ziva let out a string of angry cursing in Hebrew, and Jenny rolled her eyes and chucked a game controller at Gibbs.

"Jethro, you fucking made us lose the game."

* * *

_-alexandra_

_like i said - they're not connected to each other, and they're just light and silly!_


	3. Two Lefts and Two Rights

_a/n: use some imagination here - Ziva's back, Jenny's alive, Ellie happened - etc._

* * *

**"Two Lefts and Two Rights"**

* * *

Jenny Shepard tilted her head, toying with the bouquet of false roses, violets, and edelweiss in her lap. She lifted a chute of champagne to her lips and sighed, watching the bride and groom dance.

"The night I met her, she was coming out of a private room in a Mossad safe house," she drawled lightly, "and some hunky, _clearly_ professional guy walked out behind her, and she handed him some cash and waved him off."

Gibbs arched his eyebrows, balancing a bottle of beer on his knee.

"Ziver slept with prostitutes?"

"She called them friends," Jenny laughed,"said she didn't have time for commitments."

"You never thought you'd see her married," remarked Gibbs generically.

"You did?" the redhead fired back, and Gibbs shrugged.

"All women wanna get married," he remarked, deliberately making the statement to incite her annoyance.

It worked; Jenny slapped him in the chest with the bouquet she'd caught — had thrown right into her face, more like, and — and let it fall into his lap pointedly.

He grinned and rested his hand on it, taking a swig of beer. He pointed over at the couple.

"Ever think she'd marry him?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" Gibbs snorted.

"Duh," Jenny retorted, giving him a wry look. "Who exactly did you think Ziva would marry? McGee, Dorneget — Leon?"

"Jesus, Jen, I thought someone outside of the agency."

"Really?"

Gibbs paused.

"Nah."

She laughed.

"Why does Bishop look so lost?" she asked mildly, glancing over at the blonde woman hanging out by the punch bowl.

"Her husband hid her shoes, and she can't find 'em."

"What?"

"Don't ask Jen. They're freaks."

"Hmm," Jenny murmured, and arched her brows. "You work with freaks now?"

"Didn't know she was a freak."

Jenny laughed. She leaned forward, finishing her champagne and handing it to him. She rested her chin on her palm and watched the first dance.

"Who knew Tony was that graceful."

"Ballroom dancing until he was twelve, in cotillion," Gibbs revealed shortly. "Ziva, ballet."

"I'd hate to have to compete with that," Jenny murmured.

Gibbs put aside his drink and her glass, and leaned forward, offering her the bouquet pointedly.

"Jen," he said quietly, catching her eye. "Dance with me?"

She looked at his offered hand, and the bouquet, arching one brow.

"Last I remember, you have two left feet."

"Yeah, but you got two right ones."

She grinned, and took his hand.

* * *

_-alexandra_


	4. The Narcoleptic Playground

_a/n: jealous!gibbs_

* * *

**"The Narcoleptic Playground"**

* * *

Gibbs had snuck up to the Director's office for refuge. McGee was out sick, and with no one to provide a buffer for Tony and Ziva to occasionally direct their mocking at, the two were engaging in some sort of painfully obvious pseudo-flirtation that involved a lot of nit-picking each other's talents, insulting each other's looks, and trying to be as attractive as possible while still remaining aloof and tough.

He recognized it because he used to do it, and he definitely didn't want to sit at his desk and watch it.

He'd expected Jenny to be in her office when he sidled up there, but she wasn't, she was in a meeting or something, so he'd stretched out on the couch to read a case file, and then he must have accidentally fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew a couple of files dropped loudly onto the coffee table and he jerked awake to find himself being glared down at by an annoyed redhead — one who looked vaguely like someone he'd slept with.

Wait. That didn't clarify things — where was he? He blinked groggily, trying to identify her before he spoke.

"Jen," he stated loudly, more to inform himself which one it was.

"Good, Jethro," she said dangerously, crossing her arms.

He rubbed his jaw and sat up stiffly. He looked up at her, his vision finally clear, and then he paused, arching an eyebrow. He wondered if she knew her shirt was unbuttoned to the midriff.

He started to open his mouth, but she cut him off.

"What the hell are you doing? Do you think you run this agency? This is my office, not a narcoleptic playground."

"What?" he groused.

"Get a dictionary," she snapped, gesturing for him to get up. "I have work to do — why are you up here?"

"I," he started, still staring at her chest … he didn't think he recognized the nice, patterned green and navy bra that was peeking out playfully. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded, glaring at her.

"In a meeting."

"What kind of meeting?" Gibbs sneered. "With _who?"_

She stared at him, her jaw tightening angrily.

"Why do you sound so accusatory?" she asked.

"Why'd you come back from a meeting lookin' like you been on a street corner?"

Her mouth popped open in shock — oh, then apparently she didn't know she was exposed.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" she hissed.

He stood up, shrugging, and slipped his hands into his pocket.

"Just _watchin'_ out for your well being, Director."

"By being patronizing, misogynistic, and arrogant — well, bless your heart," she snapped. "It must be a day ending in 'y'."

He stared at her, ignoring the comment.

"All days end in 'y', Jethro," she sneered. "I'm implying that — "

"I know what it means," he retorted.

"Then why are you staring at me like a confused three-year-old."

"'Cause, your shirt's unbuttoned," he retorted bluntly, looking up at her, "and I'm wonderin' what kind of meeting you went to where someone unbuttoned your goddamn shirt."

* * *

_-alexandra_


	5. The Head Injury

_a/n: insert teary-eyed laughing emoji here_

* * *

**"The Head Injury"**

* * *

Half-asleep and stumbling, Jenny Shepard practically fell through the door of a Paris townhouse and locked it behind her. She was exhausted and sore from the all-night stake-out with Agent Decker, and she couldn't think of anything more amenable right now than climbing into bed with Gibbs — Jethro — and falling asleep.

Preferably if he let her cuddle up to him tonight.

She yawned and dragged herself up the stairs — she'd fallen asleep in the car ride home, and Decker had nearly rolled her out of the car, laughing at her state — well, that's what he got for refusing to stop for coffee — and she was still completely out of it. Being woken up from those deep moments of sleep was a bitch and a half.

She grabbed the banister as she moseyed onto the second floor and opened the bedroom door clumsily, half tripping over her own heeled boots as she shut the door and then slid down to slip them off.

She took off her shirt — left her tank top on, so he wouldn't get any funny ideas, since she was so tired — and slipped off her jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Without turning lights on or checking the godawful time, she noted which side of the bed he was on — huh, Gibbs usually slept on the left — and tumbled onto her side, wrapping up the covers around her and rolling over, eyes tightly shut.

The body next to her jumped — and a voice that was distinctly NOT Gibbs' said something in very abrupt — very Scottish — surprise. Jenny bolted upright, right as he sat up and turned on the light.

When she saw Ducky peering at her in bleary-eyed shock, she let out a high-pitched, startled scream.

Naturally, twenty seconds later Gibbs burst in with a gun in his hand, wide awake — good Marine.

Jenny covered her mouth, her face turning bright red. She'd stumbled into the wrong room, oh god, she'd gone into the wrong bedroom —

"My God, Jennifer, are you alright?" Ducky asked, half-serious, half-amused. "Have you sustained a head injury?"

She rocketed out of bed — then let out another shriek and crouched down, realizing her state of undress. Gibbs was still standing there dumbly, and she pointed to her clothes, hissing at him.

He stiffly picked her jeans up and threw them, and as she scrambled into them, he let his gun dangle, and he glared.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded loudly.

Ducky looked at him, mildly surprised.

"Jen," barked Gibbs, not waiting for an answer. "We been here four weeks, you can't remember I'm the first door on the left?"

"Ah," Ducky said, with the air of realization. "I was set to assume Jennifer meant to go into her own room, but I see I was mistaken," he said. "I had my suspicions," he sighed. "I suppose I should be glad she didn't strip naked."

Jeans on, Jenny flamed bright red again and dashed out, moaning in embarrassment. She was never going to be able to look at Ducky again — never —

She heard the doctor laughing as Gibbs slammed Ducky's door and caught up with her, the button down shirt she'd left on the floor in his hand. He caught her in the hallway and spun her around.

"You steppin' out on me?" he asked — but she could tell he was trying not to laugh.

She squeaked and covered her face.

"I'm going back to the states!" she lamented hysterically. "I can't — "

"You sittin' in bed with Ducky— "

"DON'T REMIND ME — "

"I'm never going to unsee that, Jen."

* * *

_-alexandra_


	6. The Bare Naked Waffles

_a/n: can't really imagine Gibbs strolling around nude, but this was a fun prompt to write :D _

* * *

**"The Bare Naked Waffles"**

* * *

Jenny leaned over in front of him, and shut off the elevator. She crossed her arms and turned to him in the dimly lit little box, and arched her eyebrow.

He looked at her, mildly taken aback, and shrugged.

"What?" he asked.

He hadn't done anything asinine or stubborn all day; he hadn't even interacted with her since he'd left her house this morning — well, since she'd left him in bed, getting to work a two hours before he did. She looked at him intently a moment longer, and then cleared her throat.

"Have you taken to eschewing clothing when you're alone at my house?" she asked loudly.

He tilted his head at her, brow furrowed.

_"What?"_ he barked.

She slipped her hand into her pocket, and pulled out her phone, turning it to him and showing him a picture that was a little blurry but still fairly viewable — him, standing in her kitchen, apparently making waffles, bare ass naked.

He blinked.

"I thought you went to work!" he protested.

"I did," she said, trying to maintain a straight face. _"Noemi_ took this. She seemed to be strangely torn between trauma and the need to share with me."

Gibbs stared at her. He knocked her hand down, covering the photo with his palm — he didn't know Noemi had come in — and apparently slowly backed out — and how was he supposed to know Jenny was on terms that good with her housekeeper?!

"I was dryin' off," he said, shrugging.

He smirked at her.

"Dear god," she groaned, and rolled her eyes. "You know, Jethro, when you walk around the house naked, you never know who could be sneaking a peak."

"Who else — "

"Sometimes Ziva comes over unannounced," Jenny sighed. "And Jethro, if you're ever naked around her, I'll have to fire you."

* * *

_-alexandra_


	7. The Cat in the Tree

_a/n: my room mate made me do this. but in all honesty, it was written and posted on my tumblr BEFORE McGee's epic "I need to rescue that cat" scene in "Check."_

* * *

**"The Cat in the Tree"**

* * *

Jenny Shepard was about to hurl her glass of whiskey across the room, because she had been acting incredibly suggestively and pointedly sexy for the past ten minutes for what seemed to be no fucking reason — Gibbs kept looking straight past her, his eyes focusing on something outside her study window. She slammed her glass down and folded her arms.

"Jethro, is the reflection of my backside somehow more fascinating than this new lingerie?" she asked, nodding down at her half-open silk robe and the flower-patterned red and black lace beneath.

He startled slightly and stared at her, looking at her quickly. He nodded, as if to show his approval, and then leaned forward a little, squinting.

"Jethro!"

"Huh?" he grunted.

"What are you looking for — "

"At," he corrected gruffly. "Think there's a cat in your tree."

"What?" she asked, exasperated. She spun around, clutching at her robe a little — as if it mattered if a mystery cat saw her half-naked.

"I don't see a cat."

"You're not wearin' your glasses."

"Neither are you!"

"I got sniper's eyes," he retorted, standing up and striding past her without a second glance. "Sure as hell looks like a cat."

She shook her head, frustrated, and downed the rest of her whiskey, tied her robe firmly shut, and got up and followed him.

"Are you developing dementia?" she hissed at him.

He pointed.

"Look, Jen, it's stuck in your tree."

"And this concerns you .. ?"

"It's November," he said, turning and looking at her rudely. "You got a flashlight?"

"What for?"

"I'm goin' to rescue that cat."

"Jethro, I'm legitimately concerned for your mental health — I was taking my clothes off, and you're — "

"I can't get turned on while a cat's in your tree."

She stared at him as he marched towards her kitchen and started rummaging through her drawers for a flashlight — and he finally found one, but she didn't bother to tell him there was no way it had batteries.

"What are you going to do with the cat when you get it?" she snapped.

"Feed it."

"I hate cats. You can't bring it in here."

He shrugged.

"Then I'll take it to my house," he grunted. "You can come, too."

He opened the kitchen side door to her backyard and went out into the cold. She stood in the doorway, illuminated.

"It's two in the morning!" she groused, wondering if he was drunker than she was, or if he was just actually losing every single one of his marbles right in front of her.

"Jen, it's never too late to save a cat from a tree."

* * *

_-alexandra_


	8. The Alexandria Area

_a/n: inspired by the fact that I've lived in Fairfax for four years and the only place i can get without my GPS is the Metro station._

* * *

**"The Alexandria Area"**

* * *

There was one reason and one reason only Leroy Jethro Gibbs answered his phone at three in the morning when it yanked him out of one of the only deep sleeps he'd had all year, and it was because of the name he read on the caller I.D. He punched the green button on the battered and mistreated flip phone and, without opening his eyes, grunted vaguely into the speaker.

"Hello?" she asked uncertainly.

"What?" he asked.

"Gibbs, you can't just answer the phone with a grunt," she said — he could practically _hear_ her rolling her eyes, with that tone.

So, in response: he grunted at her.

She sighed.

"Did I wake you up?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said gruffly, his eyes still closed. "Better be good."

"Uhhh … "

"Jenny," he growled.

"Well," she began delicately. "Do you know the Alexandria area well?"

He rolled his eyes under his lids.

"Lived here for twenty somethin' years, Jen," he pointed out.

"Yes, right," she said hastily. "I don't … exactly remember the area as well as I thought — there's been lots of construction, and I spent my childhood in D.C. or Maryland — "

"Jen, what the hell are you doin' out at 3 in the morning?"

"I was out catching up with some friends."

"What about security?" he groused, suddenly opening his eyes and sitting up. "What about — have you been drinking?"

"No, Jethro, I wouldn't be driving a car if I had been drinking," she snapped testily. "It's none of your business what I was doing."

"Was it male?" he asked sarcastically.

"Agent Gibbs — "

_"You_ called _me,_ Jen."

She fell silent. He was silent. He rubbed his jaw.

"What's wrong?" he asked finally, feeling like they'd gotten off track.

"Oh," she said dryly, and bit her lip. "I'm, um. I'm lost."

He glared at the dark in front of him and stood up, stretching and rolling his head to wake up his stiff muscles. He grit his teeth at her and glanced at his watch again — almost 4 am, now.

"Where are you?" he asked. "I'll come get you," he muttered.

She didn't need to be out without proper security, anyway.

* * *

_i mean, when jenny first came back, gibbs was pretty disrespectful to her for a bit._

_-alexandra_


	9. The 4th Grade Stunt

_a/n: again - one of those off the wall prompts !_

* * *

**"The 4th Grade Stunt"**

* * *

Gibbs was considering slamming his head against his desk. He swore, if she didn't stop berating him and let him do his damn job, he'd have to quit and find a cliff to jump off of just to find some peace. When was she going to stop being shocked and appalled at him for telling off reporters and refusing to hand over his hard-earned results to the FBI!?

She was at least keeping her voice low, so the team didn't hear what she was harping on about — to them, it just looked like the Director and Gibbs were having a quiet personal conversation.

"—completely unacceptable behavior — I think kindergartners would behave better — "

"When have you ever been around a kindergartener in your life, Jen?"

"Director Shepard, to you, Agent Gibbs — " she started on again, and he groaned, rubbing his jaw roughly.

He started thinking of ways he could get rid of her that didn't involve bodily injury or hurting her feelings — he wasn't exactly feeling cruel, just fed up and sheepish — being berated, even subtly, in front of the team wasn't exactly his favorite past time. He grit his teeth as she leaned closer and put her palm on his desk, narrowing her eyes and putting her face close to his.

"Do I make myself clear?" she hissed.

He looked up at her boldly, struck with an idea.

"Director Shepard," he said loudly, sitting back in his chair and feigning astonishment. "Are you _flirting _with me?"

He managed to sound appropriately shocked and outraged at her forwardness, and she stood there with her mouth open, staring at him as if she couldn't believe what had just come out of his mouth — and she couldn't, because she hadn't heart a ridiculous joke like that since she was in the fourth fucking grade —

She grit her teeth, and stepped back.

"I'm going to fire you," she snarled, her cheeks flushing.

She stormed off, and Gibbs grinned to himself —

Gibbs, 1; Jenny 0.

* * *

_what a butthead_

_-alexandra_


	10. Battery Operated Devices

_a/n: girls will be girls_

* * *

**"Battery Operated Devices"**

* * *

Jenny Shepard stormed around her brownstone, furious. There was nothing more infuriating than losing a television remote — and she didn't even use it that often. If there was one way to torture someone, it would be to break into their house and steal all of their remotes — it caused murderous rages that ruined an evening.

"Jen, we can do somethin' else."

"We're watching the movie, Jethro!"

"Maybe this is a sign — "

"WE ARE NOT HAVING SEX UNTIL I FIND THE REMOTE AND WE USE IT TO WATCH THE MOVIE."

Gibbs didn't say anything else, and Jenny continued her rampage — she'd sent him to look in random parts of the house, wondering if she'd sleepwalked it somewhere or something, while she ripped the bonus room apart. She flipped over couch cushions and ripped open drawers and just when she thought she'd lost her mind, she happened to kick so violently at the couch that it moved and the remote dislodged from underneath it.

She shrieked in triumph and grabbed it, turning to flick on the television — dead; wasn't working. Gritting her teeth, she wrenched open the back and glared at one of the missing batteries.

She stormed down the hall to her bedroom, glancing at Gibbs' back. He was rummaging lazily through some drawers.

"Found it. Hey, have you seen the…?" she started to ask for batteries, but he turned around with something in his palm and she froze, switching gears. "Oh," she muttered.

He arched his eyebrows.

"That's not a remote, Jethro."

"It has buttons," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but they're not for a TV. Why are you in my drawers?"

"You said go look in weird places."

"So you went snooping."

"Yeah."

She glared at him — he didn't even try to deny it, and he sat down on her bed and examined the button for a minute. He pushed his thumb down on one and tilted his head as the motorized device turned on. She rolled her eyes and stormed over, grabbing it and turning it off. Well, not exactly. She accidentally hit the second button, and it got … louder. Gibbs laughed at her.

"Why do you have that?"

"Because I'm a grown adult," Jenny fired back pointedly, "who does not always have a man at her disposal."

"Yeah, but you got me now."

Jenny turned off the device and replaced it in her drawer, giving him a prim look.

"So you think I should throw away my vibrator."

He shrugged.

"Men; so naive."

"Aw, c'mon, Jen, I'm not good enough for you?"

"Sometimes I use it after you leave when you slack off."

He glared at her, obviously affronted, and she patted her bedside table.

"Maybe I'll need it tonight," she sighed flightily.

Gibbs grabbed her and pulled her down on his lap firmly.

"We'll see about that," he growled.

* * *

_-alexandra_


End file.
